"Look here," and the young fellow straightened up with the conviction that he had struck the question, "is it because of my—marriage?"
"Rather." Still those watchful eyes never changed.
"Well," and the fair face flushed a little, "I suppose it wasn't just the correct thing; but you're not exactly the preacher for correct deportment, are you?" and the words, though ironical, were accompanied by such a bright smile that no offense could be taken from them. "But I'll tell you how it happened. Sit down. I would have sent word before, if I'd suspected it myself, but I didn't. Now don't look so glum, old fellow. I never imagined you would care. You see we were invited to make up a yachting party and go to Key West. We never had seen each other until the trip, and—well, we made up for the time we had lost in the rest of our lives; though I honestly did not think of getting married—any more than you would. And then, all at once, what little brains I had were upset. It began in jest, one evening in Key West, and the finale of it was that before we went to sleep that night we were married. No one knew it until we got back to New Orleans, and then I wrote home at once. Now, I'm ready for objections."
"When you left home you were to be back in two months—it is four now. Why didn't you come?"
"Well, you know I was offered the position of assistant here to Doctor Grenier; that was too good to let go."
"Exactly; but you could have got off, I reckon, to have spent your devoted father's birthday at home—if you had wanted to."
"He was your father first," was the good-humored retort.
"Why didn't you come home?"
There was a hesitation in the younger face. For the first time he looked ill at ease.
"I don't know why I should give you any reason except that I did not want to," he returned, and then he arose, walking back and forth a couple of times across the room and stopping at a window, with his back to his visitor. "But I will," he added, impulsively. "I stayed away on account of—Annie."